


Captain Hook & Rapunzel

by claitynroberts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, OMC attempts to take advantage of a drunk reader, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 03:04:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15063617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claitynroberts/pseuds/claitynroberts
Summary: Y/N has been a member of Team Free Will for a year now, and during an unexpected lull in jobs, she, Sam, Dean, and Cas decide to attend Jo’s themed birthday party. During the events of the night, cards are shown and things definitely take an unexpected turn.





	Captain Hook & Rapunzel

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic I EVER wrote, please be kind.
> 
> It was written for “Rapunzel’s Tangled Up With Supernatural Challenge” on Tumblr a while back.
> 
> Prompt: “Alright, Blondie.” “Rapunzel.” “Geshundeit.”

You had been a member of Team Free Will for some time now. Long enough to fall into a comfortable, yet predictable, routine with the boys. Research, road trip, more research, gank, repeat. Like washing your hair, or winning the nightly games of rock, paper, scissors with Dean when y’all fought over the bed in the motel room, it became second nature.  
You and Sam had become pretty close during this time, especially since you both enjoyed the more brainiac side of things. Cas even seemed to enjoy your quiet company; it was the precarious friendship with Dean that could make things uncomfortable sometimes. It’s not that you two didn’t get along, but sometimes the bond you shared felt as if it went substantially deeper than either of you let on.  
The strange lull in paranormal sightings and jobs recently was odd; and to say it was taking its toll was an understatement. As much as you enjoyed spending time with Sam and Dean, you had spent more idle time with the boys in the bunker over the last couple weeks than you ever have. It was beginning to strain the friendships between each of you.  
To pass time, you and Sam had spent time together digging through old files, inventorying artifacts and cursed objects, and even brushing up on the obscure lore the Men of Letters left behind. Whenever the dust got to you and caused your allergies to act up, you would spend some time with Dean cleaning and oiling guns or helping tune up Baby. You even had a Netflix binge session with Cas one time, although you had to explain to him that ‘no, watching Grey’s anatomy did not train you to be a real doctor’ no matter how real it seemed.  
On this particular day though, you had decided to spend some much needed time alone listening to music and catching up on your very large ‘to be read’ pile. Toward the halfway point of the dusty tome you liked to call ‘light reading,’ sleep began to pull at the edges of your consciousness. The soft rock on the radio combined with the heady scent of the musty pages lulled you into a light doze. About the time you decided to let go and surrender to the tide of sleep, allowing it to pull you under its soft current, the phone began buzzing. Loudly.  
A tortured groan fell from your lips as you roused yourself enough to locate the damn thing. Pulling the phone out from under your hip you noticed Jo’s name on the screen.  
“Girl, I love you and all, but you just called as I was drifting off into what was probably going to be the best nap of my life,” you grumble-whined into the receiver.  
“Sorry, not sorry,” came her clear voice. “You think every nap is going to be the best nap of your life,” she shot back with mirth.  
“Well, if I keep getting interrupted how am I supposed to be able to compare them, huh?” You said, using your most logical sounding, matter-of-fact voice.  
“Listen, just give me two minutes, then you can return to your nap.” You could practically see her eyes roll.  
“Fine. Your time starts now.”  
“As you know my birthday is this weekend. So I am going to have a party. You, Sam, Dean, and Cas are invited.”  
“Alright.” Sigh. “Do you need us to bring anything? Booze, food, boozy-food…” you replied with a giggle at your own joke.  
“No smart-ass. Mom and I have it covered. Be at the Roadhouse Friday night around nine.”  
“Aye, aye, captain.” You said, pantomiming a mock salute, although you knew she couldn’t see it.  
“Oh! Before I forget. It’s a costume party. Theme is Modern Fairytales. Be sure to tell the boys.”  
“I will never understand your obsession with costumes.” You groaned as your rubbed your thumb and index fingers across your forehead.  
“It’s kinda like a scaled down Halloween in April.” She said.  
“Alright, we’ll be there.” You replied, huffing an exasperated sigh,  
“In costume!”  
“Yes, in costume.” You acquiesced.  
“Good! See y’all then!” Her voice was so chipper you could hear her face splitting smile, as she hung up and the line went dead.  
You sat up and texted the guys, Family meeting. Kitchen. 5 minutes, and carefully placed the thick book on your nightstand. Switching off the radio as you walked out the door and toward the kitchen.  
Padding down the hallway, you made it to the kitchen before the rest of the crew, your stomach growling very loud. Geez, I guess I shouldn’t have skipped lunch. Opening the pantry you noticed your favorite snack, (Y/snack of choice), was up on one of the higher shelves. This place was not designed with average size humans in mind, you thought. Raising up on your tiptoes and stretching out the rest of your body did nothing to help the situation, especially since you could just barely touch the corner of the package. Struggling to retrieve your bounty, you didn’t notice the figure behind you until he reached up and retrieved your snacks; his chest brushing the side of your arm and his wrist grazing your fingertips.  
Startled, you whirled toward the intruder and let out a small yelp, soliciting a grin from him. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” You yelled, smacking him in the chest.  
Feigning offense, he raised the snacks higher, “Oh, so you want me to just put these back, then?” He stopped in midair and quirked an eyebrow.  
“Dean, no! I haven’t eaten all day, and all I want is my (snack of choice). Plus, that’s not where I left them, so some titan around here must have gotten into them.”  
He threw his head back and let out a bellowing laugh as he handed you the package. “Titans. That was a clever one, (y/n).” Still grinning he leaned against the counter and set to work wiping the grease off his hands with the towel he was holding. “Of all the things we’ve ever been called, Titans was not one of them if I remember correctly.” He looked at you with a smirk, his eyes crinkling with mischief. “Weren’t titans devilishly handsome and well endowed in the...ahem...height department?” His eyebrow quirked up again, his flirtatious words making a scarlet blush rise to your cheeks. God, he was so attractive; not that you’d ever let him know that.  
“I think that’s all wishful thinking,” you spat back while rolling your eyes. “Where are the other two at?”  
He cleared his throat. “I think Sam is heading up from the archives, and Cas was watching something on Netflix last I checked.” His half smirk dropped and his eyes became heavy with concern as he remembered why he was called to the kitchen, “what’s up with the abrupt family meeting?”  
“Nothing bad, I promise.” You raised your hand as if testifying in court.  
With that sentence, all the tension left his face. The furrow between his eyes disappeared, and he relaxed his jaw which he had unknowingly been clenching. As you completed an inventory of him, watching his shoulders become less strained and his posture relax, you met his magnetic green eyes. They held yours for longer than you expected, deep green piercing into (y/ec), causing the moment to become charged with all the tension that had been building between the two of you for some time now. You were glad you had walked to the other side of the room earlier and put the kitchen table between you two; you’re not quite sure what would have happened in that moment had you been beside him. His body always beckoned you to touch him, always left you wondering what it would feel like to be wrapped up in his strong arms. To feel the short strands of his hair slide between your fingers as his lips crashed down on yours, molding to the shape of them.  
The tension built and the visions of fantasy kept coursing on until a soft cough broke the two of you from your intense staring competition. “Ahem.” Someone cleared their throat from the kitchen doorway, breaking the spell and jolting you out of your reverie. You turned to see it was Sam and Cas, both of them looking at the two of you with inquisitive looks. “Did we interrupt something,” Sam asked, trying to contain his smirk. Appreciating his attempt to remain somewhat nonchalant.  
Embarrassed you buried your face in your snack bag, attempting to hide your blush. Peeking up through your lashes you saw Dean rub the back of his neck with his right hand, and turn toward the cabinets to retrieve a glass, which he quickly filled up with water from the tap.  
“Well, that’s not weird,” said Cas.  
Chuckling, Sam agreed. Still looking between the two of you, but deciding to leave the awkward moment for later, he asked, “so why did we need a family meeting?”  
“Oh! Jo is having a birthday party this Friday; and we are all invited.” You replied as nonchalantly as possible.  
“That’s it?” Asked Dean. “I was in the middle of changing Baby’s oil. This could have waited for later, (y/n).” His voice was gruff and aggravated as he feigned outrage for interrupting his alone time with the classic Impala. To undiscerning ears he would have genuinely sounded angry, but you knew him better than that. He was attempting to save face by making it sound like he had better things to do than stand around the kitchen with you.  
Rolling your eyes at him and his weird obsession with his car, you went on. “There’s one catch. It’s a themed party.”  
“Huh-uh. No way am I dressing up to attend her birthday party.” Dean said adamantly.  
“Okay, first of all, Dean, we all know you’re a closet nerd and secretly love LARPing. This is no different. Second of all, her theme is ‘Modern Fairytales’ so we have to come dressed as a modern interpretation of a fairytale character. Third of all, we are all going in costume. No ifs, ands, or buts.” Sometimes the only way to get through to these three lunk-heads was to put your foot down, hard.  
“Dean, she’s right,” Sam agreed with a smothered chuckle, “and it sounds like fun.”  
“I’m not sure what any of that means, but I am in as well,” said Cas.  
“I’ve already got my costume planned.” You said to Dean, raising your eyebrow.  
“Fine.” He replied, unhappily. “I’ll wear a costume. What are you two thinking of going as?” He jerked his chin at Sam and Cas.  
“Nope.” You interrupted. “No stealing ideas. No piggybacking. No talking about costumes in general until we are ready to go to her party. Got it?”  
“Fine”. All three of them replied at once.  
This was going to make for an interesting evening, that was for sure.

Friday night finally came around, and you couldn’t deny it—you were pretty excited to see what the boys came up with. You had decided you were going to go as modern Rapunzel, your character being loosely based on the Disney version instead of the original tale. Since she was a sweet, sheltered girl, you thought a modern day version would wear a pretty floral sundress. The dress you chose was a pale pink color, trimmed in lace, with a beautiful pattern of cherry blossoms on the skirt and bodice; a white pair of ballerina flats adorned your feet, and a blonde waist length wig covered up your (y/hc) hair. After you had checked and double checked your outfit, you decided you were still missing something. After you thought for a minute you realized what it was.  
Down in the kitchen you were rummaging through the cabinet beside the stove attempting to find the smaller skillet you knew you could carry around for an evening. As you were stooped down digging through the various pots and pans, Dean quietly walked up behind you, unbeknownst to you. “Let me guess, Cinderella?”  
You raised up abruptly smacking the back of your head against the cabinet opening. “Son of a bitch,” you groaned as you retreated from the storage space with your pan. “No I’m not Cinderella,” you said rubbing the goose egg forming on the top of your skull. “And what is it with you always sneaking up on me?”  
“What can I say,” he shrugged. “I’m silent but deadly.”  
“You know you just compared yourself to a fart, right,” you asked as you turned around.  
While he was silently contemplative, mouth gaping like a fish as he remembered the conversation and attempted to come up with a retort to explain it away, you got a look at him in his costume. Dark wash, nearly black jeans adorned his beautiful bow legs. He wore a dark maroon shirt, untucked, with the top two buttons unfastened and covered by a black leather jacket. His dark emerald eyes were rimmed in a line of kohl, and a ruby earring adorned his left ear. On his left hand, was a shiny silver hook with a black leather cuff; his trusty Colt 1911 strapped into a shoulder holster in lieu of a sword. The breath caught in your throat as you took in how attractively badass he looked.  
Giving up on his internal dialogue, he asked, “Alright, Blondie, who are you supposed to be, then?” His words broke through the mental fog brought on by his presence.  
“Rapunzel. Obviously.” You said as you brandished your frying pan at him.  
“Gesundheit.”  
“Smart ass.” You rolled your eyes. It’s a wonder they haven’t become stuck in the back of your head. “Where is your brother and Clarence, hmm?” You asked affectionately using Meg’s nickname for Cas; as the words left your lips you heard Sam and Cas arguing as they approached the kitchen doorway.  
“Cas, I don’t think you understand the theme here,” Sam was finishing as they entered the room.  
“You explained it to me and now I understand perfectly,” he began, “we are supposed to dress as modern interpretations of fairytale characters.” He looked between the three of you. “Dean is obviously Captain Hook, (y/n) is Cinderella, you are Prince Eric, and I am Aladdin.”  
Sam facepalmed, and you spoke up, “Umm, I’m actually Rapunzel, Cas.” He looked at you confused, so you didn’t bother to elaborate on the finer points of fairytale/Disney lore. “How are you dressed like Aladdin?”  
“Aladdin was a street urchin who stole in order to feed himself and his primate friend Abu. Street urchins today look like anyone else, just like he resembled the people surrounding him. Thus, by wearing my usual attire, I am Aladdin.” He grinned in self-satisfaction.  
Your eyes became wide, a retort on the tip of your tongue, when you locked eyes with Dean; his expression telling you explaining things to Cas would take more time and energy than it was really worth. You let the subject drop. Looking over at Sam you realized he pulled off a great modern rendition of Prince Eric. He had on salmon colored shorts that fell a couple inches above the knee, boat shoes, a white oxford button down with the sleeves rolled up, and a navy colored sweater tied across his shoulders. A pair of Ray-bans covered his eyes and a captain’s hat sat atop his luscious mane of hair. Around his neck hung a sign with the words, “Have you seen Ariel,” written on it. You stifled a giggle, “nice costume there Sam.”  
He grinned in thanks.  
“Well, then. Should we blow this popsicle joint?” Dean asked with reluctance.

A couple hours later the three of you were walking in the front door of Harvelle’s Roadhouse. The bar was worn and shabby, but it was like a second home. The well worn bar stools, the smooth wooden bar top, the pool table in the back corner, and the jukebox against the wall were like old friends. Looking around, you noticed the bar was full; not busting at the seems packed, but there were a substantial amount of people here. Immediately your hackles went up, you did not like being around so many people at once—especially strangers.  
Unconsciously, you drifted closer to Dean. He must have noticed because his right arm came to rest across your shoulders squeezing you in a half hug with his hook-free hand. “It’s okay, (y/n). They’re good people.” After a moment he added, “Well, most of them anyway.”  
“Dean, I’m not sure—,” you began, not catching the hidden meaning behind his words.  
He cut you off, “Listen everything is going to be okay. Have a drink and loosen up. We caught a break in cases and by God, we’re going to enjoy it. Especially since you made me dress up and drive two hours to be here.” He chuckled with a grin on his face.  
“(Y/n)!!” You heard a voice yell across the bar. Before you knew it you were being wrapped up in a tight hug, the scent of lavender and gunpowder invading your senses.  
“Jo...can’t...breathe.” You gasped out.  
She pulled away and looked at you, taking in your’s and the boys’ costumes. “Okay let me guess here. Rapunzel,” she made a sweeping motion of your outfit. “Captain Hook,” she said pointing at Dean. Chuckling she looked to Sam, “obviously Prince Eric.” Then a confused look crossed her face as she looked over at Cas. “Umm, evil henchman?”  
Well she gave it a shot, you thought. “Actually, he’s Aladdin. Y’know, pre-Genie and princely wish.” You said matter of factly.  
As she glanced between you, Sam, and Dean, a look of understanding passed over her face. “Oh of course! I see it now! Great job, Cas.” He grinned like a fool, and you resisted the urge to face-palm.  
After a tense moment, Jo grabbed you by the arm. “(Y/n), let’s go do shots. I’ll bring her back later boys.” You were being whisked away, trailing a look at Sam, Dean, and Cas over your shoulder. Dean smirked, and, before the crowd swallowed you up and cut him off from you, you swore you saw him wink.  
The next thing you knew, you were being handed a Jager-bomb—your’s and Jo’s favorite drinks, a “deadly” concoction of Redbull and Jagermeister. If this doesn’t loosen me up, nothing will, you thought to yourself as you gulped the mixture down.  
“So how has life been?” Jo asked.  
“Good. Calm. Strange.” You replied, looking over at her. She was dressed in a comfortable pair leggings beneath a yellow skater skirt and a navy colored top with cap sleeves. A black bobbed wig bounced as she nodded her head.  
“Yeah, this drop in paranormal sightings and cases has been weird,” she agreed, “But I’m definitely going to take advantage of it.” She punctuated the sentence with a straight whiskey shot. A wide grin split her face.  
“You are you supposed to be dressed as,” you asked.  
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m Snow White.” She grinned, brandishing her iPhone at me. On the screen a small printout of a “virus detected” dialog box was taped to it. “Get it?” She asked. “A poisoned apple?” She was grinning.  
“That’s actually pretty clever,” you said.  
She waved your compliment off. “So how has it been with the boys?” She asked.  
You thought for a moment. “Good. After the attack a few months ago, they helped give my life meaning. A purpose. For now, at least.” Flashbacks from the night flickered through your mind.  
Being the first college graduate in your family was a big deal, and all your family members—both immediate and distant—attended the reception your parents threw in your honor. There were so many people present, it could have been considered one hell of a family reunion instead. Everything was going well, people were getting along and congratulating you, cake was eaten, presents opened. Then toward the end of the night, the whole clan turned on each other. There were fights breaking out everywhere.  
“She’s mine!” Someone shouted as a chair was broken across another’s back.  
A few feet away another stated, “I shall be the one to bring her to King Crowley.”  
While you were attempting to make sense of all the commotion, some others advanced on you. They had tried to kill you, but you were able to fight them off with one of the tiki torches nearby. Only when Sam and Dean showed up did you realize they were all possessed by demons. The lucky ones were saved with exorcisms, others had to be put down quickly with the demon blade—your parents falling into the latter category. Now large groups of people made you extremely nervous.  
Effectively an orphan, the boys took you in. None of you knew why you were important enough for Crowley to send an army of demons to kill you; but you all figured your best bet was for you to stay with them for the time being.  
Snap, snap. Jo clicked her fingers in front of your face. “Are you sure you’re okay, because you seem to be a million miles away right now.” She looked concerned.  
You shook yourself from you daze. “Yeah, I’m great!” You replied with as much exuberance as possible.  
Quirking her eyebrow, she gave your her “bullshit” look but didn’t say another word. She poured both of you a shot of whiskey this time. “So they give your life ‘meaning’,” she said as you both threw back the shot. “Nothing else is going on there, then?” She smirked and poured another.  
“Nope nothing.” You said, throwing back the amber liquid.  
Another shot was poured. “You sure? Because it seems like you and Dean have a little something going on behind the scenes.” She wiggled her eyebrows, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.  
You both slammed the shot back, but you took your time swallowing. Letting the liquid burn a path across your tongue and down the back of your throat to add to the growing warmth in your stomach.  
Before you could answer her knowing look with a biting retort, Ash cut in. “Sorry (y/n) but do you mind if I steal the birthday girl for a dance?” He asked looking over at Jo. She agreed but as she left she cut a glance over at Dean, wagging her eyebrows again and giggling, letting you know the conversation was not over. Thankful for the momentary reprieve you ordered a beer and sat there examining the room. Dean was across the bar playing pool with Sam and some scantily clad girls whom you could only assume were dressed as the fates from Hercules.  
“Let me guess, you’re Cinderella?” A gruff voice came from beside you. Normally you would have jumped a little more at the interruption, but the alcohol was slowing your reflexes which you were thankful for.  
“Why does everyone keep saying that,” you said exasperatedly, as you turned toward the intruder ready to give him a what-for. The voice belonged to a handsome young man dressed in worn jeans, a red-plaid flannel with a white Henley thermal, and an air rifle slung over his shoulder. His face was angular with dark brown eyes, a straight roman nose, and full lips; he hadn’t shaved in a few days so a light beard was growing along the angles of his chin, and dark hair flopped over his forehead and into his eyes.  
Clearing your throat you replied, “actually, I’m Rapunzel. But my friends call me (y/n).”  
“I’m the Huntsman, but I tend to occasionally go by Derek.” He grinned and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”  
“Nice to meet you, too,” you took his big hand in yours to return the gesture.  
“How about I buy you a beer?” He asked.  
“Sure, why not.”  
You and Derek spoke for a long while. Long enough for you to lose count of the drinks you had had. After covering the basic general information two strangers normally share with each other, the conversation moved on to life, politics, dreams, and whatever else came to mind. As the night wore on, you and Derek became closer, allowing small touches between the two of you. A hand brush here, an arm squeeze there, until you were standing between his legs as he sat on the barstool. You caught Jo’s eye from time to time, and she just looked back at you with her huge grin.  
Vaguely, you realized Dean had been staring at the two of you from his place at the pool table across the bar. During the course of your conversation with Derek, though, Dean had been moving closer and closer. He took pains to make it look like he wasn’t being territorial, but he definitely did not like the looks of this guy. He was tall, dark, and handsome and his outfit and demeanor had douchebag written all over him. Dean had noticed the copious amounts of alcohol you had been plastered with by Mr. Dbag, and he knew you were not going to be able to make sane choices tonight. Finally deciding to make his presence known, he set down his beer patted Sammy on the shoulder, and walked over to where you were draped across the stranger.  
“Excuse, me,” he cut into the conversation. “Are you about ready to leave, sweetheart?” He turned toward you, placing a steadying hand on your elbow.  
You looked at him with half-lidded eyes, your words slurring as you spoke. “Nooo...I’m gonna shtay here a wiff D-man a lit-tle longer.” You held your fingers up in an open pinch.  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, darlin’,” he cautioned. “You don’t even know this guy.”  
“Yesh, I do. Hish name’s Derek, and heesh dressed as da Huntsman.” You slammed your hands down on your hips as if the action would get your point across regardless of your inebriated speech.  
“Seriously, (y/n), I think it’s time we head to the—,” he was cut off by Derek, who had heard his name and returned his attention to the conversation.  
“And who the hell are you,” he shot at Dean, his words slightly slurred and eyes glistening with alcohol.  
“I’m Dean. Dean Winchester,” he replied civilly. “Who are you?” His emerald eyes hardened and his jaw clenched, his hand never left your elbow. It was almost like he was looking for a confrontation.  
“Derek,” he replied curtly. “Now if you’ll excuse us Mr. Winchester, (y/n) and I have some things we need to get back to.” He drunkenly wrapped his arms around your waist, obviously not knowing what was good for him. You stiffened at the action, beginning to sober up as you knew what it would solicit from Dean, the territorial jackass.  
“I think you should let her go,” Dean said. “It’s not polite to be grabbing at women who are too drunk to think clearly. Especially if you just met them, and you’re the douchebag plying them with alcohol.” Dean may have been a womanizer, but at least he had a conscience when it came to taking advantage of overly drunk women.  
“Listen, man, she’s a big girl, she can take care of herself. If she wants to stay here with me, more power to her. I won’t hurt her.” Derek brushed the hair off your neck and ran his nose along the curve of your shoulder, inhaling your scent as he went. “At least not much, anyway.”  
“Outside,” Dean said. Quietly. Calmly. Though you knew how much rage he was holding back, you could see it brewing in his dark green eyes. He had had enough of this guy.  
“Excuse me?” Asked Derek.  
“You heard me. Outside.” Dean said again, fist clenched at his side.  
They stared each other down for a moment before Derek rose and walked to the door, dragging you with him, Dean hot your heels.  
As the three of you stepped into the parking lot, Dean yanked you out of Derek’s inebriated grip and landed a left hook squarely to his left cheekbone sending him sprawling across the hood of a new Shelby Mustang. It took a moment for Derek to find his footing after the blow, but he countered Dean’s punch with a swing of a discarded tire iron he had found nearby. Dean dodged it swiftly, knocking it from his grasp and landing an uppercut to Derek’s jaw, forcing him to the ground with the impact.  
You heard the door burst open and turned to see Sam, Cas, Ellen, and Jo run out behind you. Sam and Cas looked ready to jump in and Ellen had a baseball bat in her grip just in case things came to more severe blows. Jo pulled you close to her side as Sam rested a large hand on your shoulder. Cas and Ellen both assessing the situation in case Dean needed help with the drunk creep.  
Before Derek could get to his feet, Dean had a knee pressed firmly against his chest with one hand fisted in his collar and the hook poised at his throat. Leaning down so they were nearly nose to nose, Dean spoke. “If you ever lay a hand on her again, or any woman for that matter, I swear to Chuck, I will hunt you down. And believe me, that’s not something you want to happen. Capice?”  
Derek stared at him with wide eyes as he slowly nodded his head and gasped for breath. As Dean was rising to his feet, he suckerpunched the inebriated man beneath him, effectively knocking him out. He walked over to your group as he shook out his hand. “Well I think that’s our queue to leave,” he said. Sam looked at him with a quizzical eyebrow raised. “Long story,” was all Dean said in reply.  
“Well I appreciate you bringing the fight outside, Dean,” Ellen said with a mixed look of gratitude and bewilderment.  
“No problem, Ellen.” He looked between Mother and daughter, “thanks for having us.”  
“Anytime,” Jo replied. The group was still astonished by the direction the night had turned, you were all standing around looking at each other with wide eyes and soft mumbles.  
“Sam?” Dean asked, nodding his head and raising his eyebrows in a you ready to go look.  
“Uh...I uh, am actually going to stay here for the night. Ariel is waiting inside and Jo said we could, uh, use the back room.” His face became more red and his sentence more flustered as he finished speaking.  
“Dude, there is so much I could do with that one sentence,” he chuckled, but Sam shot him a withering glare. Clearing his throat, Dean went on, “But I won’t. Just be careful, and call if you need anything. We’re going to get a room at the motel in town, just meet us there in the morning.”  
Waving goodbye you, Dean, and Cas set out for the local motel. Dean left the two of you at the car while he ran in to grab a couple rooms, but when he came out, he did not look happy. “Well, they only had the one room so it looks like we’re sharing tonight.” He threw a pointed look at you and Cas as you walked into the dilapidated room.  
There was a single bed with a nightstand on either side and a dingy comforter adorning the mattress. The sun-faded floral window curtains floated in the breeze of the window A/C unit. You sat down in a worn chair by the small kitchen table and rested your head in your hands. The alcohol had almost released its hold on you, leaving your stomach in knots and your head pounding. All that, combined with the craziness of the bar fight, left you reeling. Dean dumped the bags on the floor at the foot of the bed and sat down, absentmindedly rubbing his knuckles which were still angry looking from making contact with Derek’s face.  
“Look, (y/n),” he began, “I’m...sorry...for what happened back there.”  
“Dean.” You looked at him without your usual mask, allowing him to see all the emotions you were struggling with cross your face. “Just stop.”  
“Stop what?” He asked, a confused look on his face.  
You waited a minute and looked over to Cas, who thankfully got the hint. “I’m going to go check on Kevin,” he said awkwardly. “See what progress he has made with the demon tablet.” And with a flutter of wings, he was gone.  
“Stop what,” Dean repeated, a soul crushing look hidden in the depths of his eyes.  
“Stop whatever this is.” Your voice sounded tired, broken, even to your own ears, as you made a vague all encompassing gesture. “I’m so sick of you dancing along the lines, and not picking a side. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.”  
“I don’t know—“  
“Yes you do!” You shouted cutting him off, tears forming in your eyes. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Ever since the night you and Sam saved me, you have been hiding or denying your feelings. Months, Dean, it has been months. Either make a fucking move or let me go! I can’t take this limbo hell anymore.” You were sobbing now.  
He sat there quietly for a moment, your sniffling and gasping the only sounds in the room. “(Y/n), I care about you, you’re right. But this is not a life you need to live permanently. As soon as we figure out why Crowley wants you—,” he tried but you spoke over him.  
“‘As soon as.’ Who the hell knows how long that will actually be. It could be years before we find out why I’m significant to Crowley. And if you expect me to remain with you guys as we figure all this out, something's gotta give.”  
“Is this about that douchebag at the bar?” He asked in a dangerous tone, there was a steely edge to it you hadn’t heard often, but it was booming nonetheless.  
“No,” you shouted indignantly, but his glare cut through your thin layer of bullshit. “Yes…” you acquiesced. “I don’t see the problem there.”  
“Don’t…’don’t see the problem’?” He was aghast. “Really? Because I see major problems. The dude was shitfaced, you were drunk enough to slur your words; there’s no telling what could have happened!” He was standing now, shouting and pacing a path into the carpet. “He could have taken advantage of you.” His voice was deadly quiet, now.  
You glared a hole into his soul—figuratively at least. “How is that any different than what you do,” you asked in a small voice, the accusation hanging in the air.  
He stopped dead in his tracks and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, resting his face in his hands. After a moment he spoke. “I’m not saying I’m the best dude out there, but I do treat women better than that guy was treating you.” Tears were glistening in his eyes. “I’ve never forced myself on anyone, and I don’t keep buying them drinks so I may take advantage of them.” His voice was gruff, almost breaking.  
“Dean, you don’t know he was going to take advantage of me.” You tried, but even your defense sounded thin to your own ears. The truth of the matter is, Dean was right—even if you didn’t want to admit it. More than likely Derek would have taken you back to his place, or maybe just to the parking lot, for a quick hook up. Discarding you and never calling. The idea of being a one night stand made your stomach roil.  
“Really, (y/n)? If he wasn’t going to take advantage of your impaired state then I’m the Pope.” Sarcasm tended to be his defense mechanism.  
“Dean, you can’t be upset and keep me from moving on with my life, keep me from trying to find love—,”  
“‘Keep you from trying to find love.’ Is that what you think I’m doing?” He said angrily. “Because I think I’m trying to protect your ass.”  
“Oh, so you’re protecting me, is that it?” You were yelling now. “Being territorial about who I talk to, while you’re out galavanting with any skirt who looks your way, is ‘protecting me’.” You crossed your arms across your chest, trying to hold in your emotions and keep yourself from falling apart. “Flirting with me incessantly and building all this sexual tension between us is ‘protecting me.’ I’m tired of all this bullshit, Dean!” Your emotions had busted loose and taken over now, anger, hurt, and betrayal all coursed through your veins.  
You took a deep steadying breath. “It’s not fair for you to constantly put me through all this while you may do what you please,” you tried to explain patiently, fed up with his petulant attitude. “So please, truly look at yourself and decide what it is you want. When you figure it out, let me know.”  
With that you grabbed your bag and entered the bathroom shutting the door behind you a bit harder than necessary. Turning on the shower, you stripped out of your costume and slid down the shower wall. The water hid your tears and muffled the sound of your quiet sobs. You sat there crying yourself out until nothing was left deep inside you, until everything that had happened to you in the last year swirled down the drain. Until the water coming out of the shower head turned cold and bracing.  
You toweled off and got dressed in your pajamas, a loose pair of sweats and an oversized Bon Jovi t-shirt you stole from Dean soon after they took you in. No matter how many times you washed it, it still inexplicably smelled like him, which was a soothing balm to your aching nerves. I’m not going to force my feelings on him; if he wants to be with me he can damn well tell me, you thought in a silent prayer to whatever god was listening.  
As you entered the room you saw Dean still sitting where you left him, eyes red-rimmed like your own. He must have gotten up to change into his night clothes as well because the kohl and Captain Hook costume were long gone, a worn pair of sweats and a t-shirt replaced them. Silently you walked to the other side of the bed to turn down the covers, determined to leave everything where right where you left it until he deigned to speak to you.  
“You’re right, (y/n).” He said.  
“Oh?”  
“I do care for you. And much deeper than as a friend.” He shifted to look at you while you went about your pre-sleep ritual.  
You didn’t say anything, hoping the silence would cause him to keep speaking. You looked at him with pursed lips and raised eyebrows.  
“The thing is I don’t have much experience in this department. Relationships aren’t really my thing.” He glanced up at you. “I’ve had feelings for you since nearly the first day we met. I’ve just been scared to act on them because—“ his voice caught, and he cleared his throat. “Because what happens if we try this and it doesn’t work or you get taken away from me? Because everything I’ve ever cared about gets taken or destroyed.”  
You stilled your actions and thought over his words. Turning each over in your mind, searching for any hidden meaning. Finally, you looked at him, “but what if it works?”  
A tear escaped his eye as he bowed his head. After a moment he grinned, “ever the optimist, aren’t you?”  
You gave him a half smile, “someone around here has to be.” You shrugged a shoulder, “and besides, I’m not worried about getting taken or dying. Between you, Sam, Cas, Jo, and Ellen, I’d say I’m safer than the Declaration of Independence.”  
He returned the grin. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Although Nicholas Cage was able to get past all that government security to get the Declaration.”  
You chuckled, “I don’t think we have to worry about Nic getting to me.”  
After a moment he added, “so...where do we go from here?”  
You thought for a moment. “How about we start with one day at a time,” you said a little shyly. “Besides, it’s almost morning and we should turn in. It’s been a long day and Sam will be herein a few hours,” you said as you crawled under the faded comforter.  
He cleared his throat, “Right. I’ll just sleep on the floor.” When he reached for the second pillow, you grabbed his hand causing him to freeze. Your gaze traced over his muscled arm, from his wrist up to his face.  
When the two of you finally made eye contact you gave him a soft smile. “You can sleep in the bed. You know, if you want to…” you trailed off shyly, waiting for his reply.  
As you settled down on the mattress, you watched him war with himself; one hand rubbing the back of his neck as he blew out a deep breath. When his more tired side won the internal battle, he drew the covers back to settle into the bed beside you, careful to leave space between the two of you.  
After a few tense moments you heard him clear his throat in the dark. “Well...uh...goodnight, then,” he said clasping his hands across his middle.  
Geez, this man has bedded countless women, but in the face of a possible relationship he becomes a junior high boy, you thought as you chuckled to yourself. Fed up with the silence and the space between the two of you after all these months of hidden feelings, you grabbed his hand and lifted up his arm so you could curl up against his side. Your head rested on the point of his chest where is arm met his torso, your hand laid over his beating heart where you could feel it thumping hard against his chest. Your leg draping over his as if you had done this a million times. “Goodnight, Dean Winchester,” you sighed as you inhaled his scent and began to drift off into unconsciousness.  
You weren’t sure if you dreamt it or not, but you could have sworn right before the tide of sleep pulled you under, Dean pulled you tighter against his body as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

Fin.


End file.
